Find this ghazal at 39minutes 58seconds
Here's the translation adapted from Aman Sharma's blog:
O mother, mother, I made a hawk my beloved,
With plumes on his feet,
And bells on his feet!
He came pecking grain!
First, his beauty was as sharp as sunlight,
Second, he thirsted for fragnances!
Third, his color was like a red rose,
He must be the son of a very fair mother!
A bed of love,
I laid for him under the moonlight!
The sheet of my body was stained,
The very instant when he laid his feet on it!
Corners of my eyes hurt,
A flood of tears engulfed me!
All night long I tried to fathom,
How he could do this to me?
Early morning,
With a beauty rub, I scrubbed and bathed his body!
There were flames emanating from him,
My hands were burnt!
Next I crushed food for him,
But he refused to eat!
So I fed him with the flesh of my heart!
Soon he took flight,
Never to return!
O mother, mother, I made a hawk my beloved….
